


New Perspective

by good



Category: DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23050873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/good/pseuds/good
Summary: From the first time Dick saw him, he’d known Slade Wilson wasdifferent.This was not a person he could trust.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

In this world there are three types of people.

Those who can only tell truths.

Those who can only tell lies.

And those who can do both.

_Truths. Falses. Dares._

Though the existence of those who are able to lie has been largely widespread knowledge since their discovery, those individuals have been said to make up less than ten percent of the population. Well-kept secrets in the vast world, hidden in plain sight, decades avoiding prejudice and discriminatory prosecution. An identifying mark on the tip of the tongue is the only differentiating factor between liars and the majority. 

Some call it a disability. Others call it a power. A gift.

Dick Grayson remembers when he met the person who could lie and tell the truth as fluidly as the ocean brushes the shoreline. 

From the first time Dick saw him, he’d known Slade Wilson was _different._

It started in the manor, when he was still young and a gentle man had opened his home up to take a poor orphan boy beneath his wing. He’d been just trying to pass through, hadn’t meant to be seen or accidentally interrupt an important meeting, so sure that his footsteps had been too quiet to be heard. But Bruce called to him from the sitting room, as if he could feel Dick sneaking behind them, nothing but warmth in his beam towards Dick once he arrived. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

The pressure immediately became evident when he diligently took his place between their chairs. 

That one eye on him, pale as ice and sharp as glass, painted onto a strong and handsome face that carved itself into Dick’s memories. He was Bruce's age, still holding onto his youth, but broader than Bruce had been. Hair unnaturally white. When that man occupied a room, he was instantly out of place in it, yet somehow it seemed like he still belonged.

Dick had been doomed the second his gaze landed on the perfectly constructed mask that framed the man's facade. So bold and confident, while simultaneously keeping just enough beneath the surface to keep Dick’s mind reeling after every sentence and doubting any word that came out of his mouth. Something he’d later learn was all part of the game; a scheme to make Dick sweat and guess for the next _half a decade_. Probably for his own amusement.

The man regarded him lazily, eyed him as if he were prey, and when that smile formed over his lips Dick had concluded…

This was not a person he could trust.

“This is Slade Wilson. His daughter will be attending the same school as you.” Bruce set his teacup on a side table while he spoke. “We’ll also be working closely together after today. I figured it was good for you to meet while you were still downstairs.”

Dick could feel the slow crawl of unease seep into his bones, the heavy weight of visceral tar as it sank into his guts.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Is that the material you’re studying?” Slade’s eyebrow quirked over his eyepatch as his attention dropped to the books Dick held tight in his hands.

A frog caught in his throat, but he swallowed it down. “Would you like to see it?”

He’d offered those books out. Dick didn’t know then what to expect.

Slade merely allowed his gaze to flit back to his face with a sense of disinterest behind it, and it was then that Dick felt as though his presence hadn’t entirely mattered at all in the allotted moment. That he was only a speaking point between Slade and Bruce in order for the former to carry on with whatever business transaction had been taking place. A show of goodwill; the extension of an olive branch.

“It’s quite alright,” Slade had said, and underneath Dick could almost hear an _of course I don’t want to see it, you naive child,_ veiled by formal niceties. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing them soon enough.”

The first time he caught Slade lying was three years later.

He sat at the warmth of the fireplace with Rose, whose pretty hair was the color of snow ( _“A gift, from my_ beloved _father.”_ ), idly exchanging critters between their GameBoys. She was smart, athletic, and had a penchant for getting herself into too much trouble for her own good.

A relatable trait that drew the two of them together. More than once Alfred had scolded them for being somewhere they shouldn’t have been, or playing too rambunctiously inside the house. Eaten too many snacks before dinner. Dick got on especially well with Rose. In a way, she was the younger sister he never had. Kind, mischievous, honest, and open-minded.

She was the complete opposite of her father.

That day, Bruce disappeared into the study with Slade. Business only, Bruce had insisted, with a pensive look in his eyes that revealed a meaning that Dick didn’t quite understand just yet. Bruce was incapable of being dishonest, as most people, though he was intelligent enough to circumvent the restrictions a Truth’s caste demanded. If Truth’s could somehow lie, Bruce would be the one to figure out the way to do it. It was something to be admired.

Dick couldn’t sate his curiosity. 

He eavesdropped.

Alfred had gone first to deliver tea, door left open just a crack when he emerged out of it. An opportune moment. 

From his view into the study he could see the corner of the room. Slade took a cup off a waiting tray and stood near the open window. Bruce was sat at his desk, papers spread about it.

“Sionis won’t stop until he’s monopolized every inch of Gotham. You know he’s a bloodthirsty tyrant parading around in Gucci while his employees live paycheck to paycheck in decommissioned apartment buildings.”

“I do know.” Bruce had been outwardly calm, but Dick could sense something critical boiling under the surface. “But we can’t show our hands just yet. I need Roman to make the wrong move, then we catch him in the act and turn in evidence to the police.”

Slade scoffed. “I’m not interested in the late game, Wayne.”

“ _I know._ ” Bruce rose from his chair and turned to face the bookshelf away, skimming the rows of titles there.

Dick watched.

He watched _Slade,_ who emptied the contents of his cup out the window in one quick motion, then nonchalantly strode back over to the desk as Bruce returned with a large hardcover book in his hands.

It was something so simple.

It felt like tunnel vision, a premonition, blotting out everything until that cup was set and Bruce’s attention followed it.

“Did you enjoy the tea?”

Dick’s stomach lurched into his throat.

“Yes. It was delicious, as usual.”

He ran.

Ran as fast as his legs could take him through the manor.

“You’re all out of breath,” Rose pointed out when Dick clambered back into the sitting room, red in the face and breathing heavy. “What were you even doing for so long?”

Dick had wondered if she knew. If Bruce knew. 

“Maybe I saw a ghost.” A myth, that was it, something completely out of reality. The stuff he’d only read about in class, or stories. Things you only see on TV. 

“What?” Rose had made a sour face. “You’re so weird. Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Are you able to say that because you can’t lie, or because it’s what you believe?” 

“Because I can’t lie, obviously.”

By the time Bruce and Slade were finished, Dick had managed to conceive several theories in his mind. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he missed something. Maybe he misheard. Maybe his distrust in Slade Wilson had managed to convince his own perception to see whatever it wanted. A hallucination. 

He should have pretended to not see it. Should have told himself better that it wasn’t real. Wasn’t true.

Dick remembers that night so vividly.

A night that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“I need to take a phone call. Will you escort Slade and Rose to the door?” 

Bruce and his stupid calls. His stupid business duties. If it weren’t for those, maybe he’d have kept his mouth shut. Maybe the inevitability of the next scene would have been prolonged for just a little longer.

Rose was first out the door, beelining straight for the car. Dick had watched her climb into the passenger seat and lock herself in, her complaints about how late it’d been trailing off with the rest of her image behind tinted windows. Slade took a more casual exit, stepping slow out of the entryway. If Dick hadn’t known any better, which he’d been increasingly more certain that he _didn’t,_ he’d have thought Slade might’ve been waiting for something. Deliberately taking his time. “Have a good night, Grayson.”

Dick never knew when too much was _too much._

“Slade.”

It’d been out of his mouth before he thought to stop himself.

And Slade stopped in his tracks. Turned to face him. 

That eye. Cold. Taking him apart piece by piece. Dick felt his very seams unravelling in the spotlight of that gaze. His words caught in his throat and were gulped down like rocks. 

“... How did you do it?” He’d asked, too vague, but not vague enough that it didn’t earn a twitch of Slade’s brow.

“How did I do what? You’ll need to be more specific.”

If Dick had been looking closer, just a little clearer, he might’ve seen it then. The web that’d been intricately woven below him in place of a safety net. He’d been pushed, and Slade was going to devour him until there was nothing but marrow clinging to those silken threads.

No matter how careful Dick was, how much he’d tried to hide his suspicions until then, Slade had always been one step ahead.

He met that well-guarded expression with all the courage his body could scrounge up. “How did you lie about the tea?”

A smile split across Slade’s lips. One like the first time they met, when Slade’s words had driven this burning doubt into his being. This feeling that made Slade so dangerous, but something he needed. Something Dick had to know for certain.

To be able to lie and tell the truth... 

“Ah. I wonder how?” A hand slowly rose. “I’m sure you figured it out a while ago, so why don’t we continue keeping this our little secret?”

Slade’s thumb met his bottom lip. Dick couldn’t find words. Couldn’t look away as the tip of that tongue slipped out. A truth plain as day, a birthmark-sealed fate.

_Dare._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to a new fic of mine!! thanks for stopping by! this is going to be my first multi-chaptered fic for sladick (with like, an actual plot! ah!). so buckle in for a ride!
> 
> first thing i want to advise about here: this AU is based on the korean manhwa called "Truth or Dare". basically in the TOD universe, all you need to know for now is in the first five lines of the fic! also, people can exchange what their Types are by kissing.
> 
> im pretty much obsessed with this current universe and as with everything i watch or read i of course have to make a sladick AU out of it so. here we go!!
> 
> PS: the title of this fic is a reference to the song New Perspective by P!ATD


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> evidently, writing big scenes with lots of people is hard (´･ω･`)

Dick wakes with a slow start and the impatient rays of sunlight flitting through the thin blinds of his apartment window.

The dream is one he’s had a thousand times before, something that never seems to leave him, the imprint of a mark embedded onto Dick's memories like a poltergeists hand on a bathroom mirror.

The sweat on his brow is cold and his hair sticks to his skin like saran wrap on a wet surface, and he _hates it,_ hates that everytime he has this nightmare he’s left shaking on his back as his eyes bore holes into the ceiling. Sometimes he wishes the light fixture would collapse on him in his sleep to pull him out of such a miserable state, bring him back to reality faster than his brain could ever, or the sight of Slade’s tongue peeking out passed his lips.

Maybe he’ll install one of those automatic shock collars on himself that go off if his pulse rate starts to spike.

Yeah, right. Like that would fix anything. All it’d do was form some kind of pavlovian reaction in him to being startled whenever his blood pressure picked up the pace. He’d never have meaningful sex ever again.

Dick groans as he laments over what is surely just a procrastination to actually getting out of bed. The sun is busy not caring about waiting for Dick to be ready as it rises, before there’s light shining in his eyes, effectively blinding him.

_Ugh._

He rolls over, away from it, and reaches for the cellphone poking out from under his pillow where it’s been charging overnight.

It’s an ungodly hour of the day, at least to someone who isn’t a _morning person,_ but his screen’s littered with notifications already from friends and family. Normally he wouldn’t complain, but _today_ he feels just a little bit selfish. Maybe it had to do with the fact that it was his birthday, and on his _birthday_ he would have preferred to sleep in and have some peace and quiet for once.

… But really, Dick liked the attention, so who was he to complain. He couldn’t be angry at other people’s kindness. 

When Babs and Bruce and Damian were the one’s leaving him letters to wake up to, being up so early wasn’t really so bad.

They were all pretty simple. Barbara offered to take him out to dinner next week, since she was working on a case with her father over the weekend. Damian’s was a short “Happy Birthday”. Nothing more and nothing less, which still made Dick’s heart squeeze all sorts of nicely in his chest. Definitely fuel for any future older-brotherly-teasing sessions. And then, Bruce’s… Of course Bruce’s would be different.

His thumb taps Bruce’s contact photo, and then he holds the phone to his ear, waiting out the ringing that follows.

Bruce answers on the third dial. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’,” he greets back, but doesn’t leave it floating for long. “So. Party.”

“I thought it would be nice, since it’s your twenty-fifth birthday.”

Dick resists a sigh, and Bruce would never know just how hard it was for him to do that. “You don’t have to go out of your way like this. It’s just a birthday, B. Can’t we do the same thing as usual, and go to the pizza place down by the park? Maybe catch a _movie-_ ”

“Alfred’s been looking forward to this one, you know,” Bruce interrupts, and it begins to dawn on Dick that maybe he doesn’t actually have a say in this at all.

“You’ve already invited people, haven’t you? How long’ve you been planning this?”

Bruce is quiet, but his silence speaks leagues more than his words ever could.

“About two months.”

Dick sprang up in bed. “ _Bruce!_ ”

“I wanted it to be special for you.”

Fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. Bruce Wayne might have been his savior at a time, a mentor who taught him every trick in the book, every morsel of knowledge he held in that complex mind of his, but the man was going to be the death of him one day. “You’re not giving me a choice, are you?”

“Afraid not.” There was a smile in his voice, and Dick could maybe hate that he was weak to it, flopping back into bed with a grand huff of air out of his lungs.

“What time am I expected to be there? At the... where was it again...”

“It’s being hosted at the Douglas’ Country Club-”

“Do you ever think before you say things that sound like you’re a billionaire?”

“-you’ll be expected to arrive at five o’clock. Don’t eat a big lunch, dinner’s being catered.” Bruce pauses, but Dick knows he isn’t finished, listening to him rustle something on the other end of the line. “And no, not really.”

His lips quirk up into a smirk.

“Did my question get you in a tizzy?”

“I have some things to take care of before the party. I’ll see you then, Dick.”

The line went dead, but Dick felt a dangerous swell of victory rise within him.

However, it was short lived as he drew his phone back to scroll through the rest of his messages.

There was one person, at least, that he didn’t want to hear from.

>   
>  **[S.]  
>  > Today is a very special day for you, little bird. **   
>  5:39AM
> 
> **[D.]  
>  > what do you want slade**   
>  7:22AM
> 
> **[S.]  
>  > To wish you a Happy Birthday.**   
>  7:23AM
> 
> **[D.]  
>  > yeah right  
> > you know i can tell when youre lying, so just come out with it  
> > honesty could be a good look on you, if you actually   
>  bothered to commit to anything in your life**   
>  7:29AM   
> 

  
  
Dick wishes he had a superpower that let him glare heatrays straight through his phone and into Slade. Not to kill him, of course. But maybe do some minor damage. That’d be fun.

Still… Slade wasn’t replying. Dick wonders briefly if his messages had been too rude, but that was shrugged off about as quickly as the thought had taken form. There was never a _too mean_ when it came to dealing with Slade and his shady personality. He was probably trying to get Dick tangled up in another one of his messes; and none of them being anything Dick actually would’ve been excited about.

It takes one long, dramatic stretch and a pop of his jaw as he yawns to finally get Dick out of bed and sauntering into the bathroom to start his morning routine.

Slade has impeccably horrible timing as ever just as Dick’s gotten a toothbrush in his mouth, and he frowns as he reads the incoming texts while they’re appearing.

>   
>  **[S.]  
>  > I want you to reconsider working for me.**   
>  7:35AM
> 
> **[D.]  
>  > pass**   
>  7:35AM
> 
> **[S.]  
>  > Always so quick to say no.**   
>  7:35AM
> 
> **[D.]  
>  > probably because youre a narcissistic sociopath**   
>  7:36AM
> 
> **[S.]  
>  > Is that what Wayne tells you?**   
>  7:37AM
> 
> **[D.]  
>  > its what ive learned. how is this even fair anyway?  
> > how come its wrong when i pester you about being a dare,   
>  but its totally fine for you to bother me every other day about  
> being your assistant??  
> > these scales are uneven and you know it**   
>  7:45AM
> 
> **[S.]  
>  > I never said you couldn’t keep asking. That doesn’t mean I’m  
> going to agree to it one day.   
> > Or I might. We’ll never know unless you try.**   
>  7:50AM
> 
> **[D.]  
>  > i shouldnt even be texting you**   
>  7:53AM
> 
> **[S.]  
>  > You’re so apt to change the subject when it’s something  
> you don’t like.  
> > Wayne taught you how to be a pretty liar. I want that. A Truth  
> who weaves words as well as you, without needing hesitation.  
> > But suddenly it’s “I shouldn’t be talking to you” now that you  
> aren’t getting what you want out of this exchange.  
> > You’ll work for me, Richard.  
> > Once you figure out that you can’t smother down that sense  
> of curiosity any longer.  
> > It’s only a matter of time.**   
>  8:11AM   
> 

  
  
  
Dick practically slams his phone face down on the counter. The _nerve--_

His talent for talking was great, _so what?_ Slade could have found anybody else, there were plenty of people in Gotham who could flap their gums just as well, plenty of other Truth’s out there to choose from who’ve taught themselves by now how to get around speaking only honest words and sugar coating them to form evasive white lies. The only reason Slade even gave a shit was because he wanted to flaunt around a Truth and convince his clients of his honesty.

 _What_ honesty? As if there was even an ounce of truth to be found anywhere inside Slade’s physical body. He couldn’t trust a single word that came out of his mouth starting from the second they first met.

And yet…

“Damn it,” he hisses through his teeth, slumping over the sink.

Bastard. Slade was an absolute _bastard._ He knew how good he had it, too, how much it ate away at Dick to be so close to something he’d always been unendingly curious about, something he _wanted_ , even just a taste of being near it. _Freedom._ The freedom to say whatever one wanted, the capability to tell lies or truths without the sentences crumpling themselves up into paper balls inside his throat before they saw even a glimmer of light. Dick was never meant to be kept inside a cage.

Not when there was so much more waiting.  
  


* * *

  
  
“Dick! Happy Birthday!”

Clark is the first to greet him when Dick steps into the building, catching him on his way back from the restroom. A pair of huge arms wrap around him before he has any hope of contemplating an escape, feet flailing as they're lifted high off the ground.

“Thank you, Blue,” his words wheeze out of him like a deflating squeaky toy, and only once he taps Clark’s arm twice is he set back down, met with dark cheeks and a shy finger that scratches over strong cheekbones.

“Sorry... It’s been a while since I’ve seen you! I got a bit excited,” Clark admits, smiling lopsidedly and unfairly perfect and beautiful and radiant like the very Sun itself. Which _biased_ God up there in the universe decided it was a fabulous idea to create goodness incarnate? “How’ve you been?”

“Overall? Good. Today? Better, now that I’m here.” Dick met that smile with one of his own. 

“Rough start?” Clark’s brow forms a crease between it, though his sunny disposition remains ever persistent.

“Define rough.” Humor mixed with nonchalance was always the best way to dissolve an uncomfortable topic. Dick pat Clark’s arm to pass by him, guiding him towards the large double doors in the lobby that hid a room full of chatting people and pounding music behind them.

Luckily the point was understood well enough. “I’ll avoid prying too deeply. Only because it’s your birthday.”

"Finally, a privilege I can abuse. I'm going to pull that card out when Bruce tries bombarding me with questions about which type of cake I liked best. He's probably got three in the fridge here, doesn't he?"

That gaze flits to the side, avoiding him, and that's really all the answer Dick truly needs.

"Five?"

Clark looks back to him and offers only an apologetic, half-hearted shrug.

"God. Don't you think that's too much?" Dick wants to run away already before he's even gotten a chance to settle into this overly extravagant place. Everything is so completely spotless and shiny, and there's at least one chandelier hanging in every hallway. "Isn't _all of this_ too much?"

"Why don't you make your rounds? You haven't even taken a look at the room inside yet." The world's most truthiest Truther can't even respond to the question properly, and that really says something. 

He purses his lips out. Fine.

When Dick pushes the doors open, it's a fabulous rush of noise and people hitting him at once. Tables stretching far across the room, all adorned with ivory tablecloths and high back wooden chairs. There's a bouquet in the center of each one, and fairy lights dangling in streams from the ceiling, corner to corner. It's the only source of lumination in the otherwise dimming room, making a pretty sight. It's still that time of year where the sun sets early, orange and pink hues fading into the room from huge glass sliding doors that lead into a garden on one of the far walls. Everything is _sparkling_ and Dick can't help but feel so incredibly out of place in it. If it looks expensive, that's because it is. 

He can see just about everyone. Tim's here, mingling with Conner, probably to keep his sanity intact while he's surrounded by all of Bruce's lavish planning. There's Kori and Garth, and Donna. Roy too, doing some bogus party tricks with a napkin and a fork that Dick isn't going to question too hard.

There's almost too many people to keep track of straight away amidst the nearly full room filled with tons of Bruce’s co-workers and business partners sprinkling the top of their crowd. 

Bruce normally would spring for some sort of live band to play at eccentric get togethers, but for tonight it appears he’s hired a DJ, off in the corner playing pop tunes over comically large woofers. It isn’t total alienation. He can see the Devil himself on the opposite corner, sitting at a table with some of his own friends. Parents. 

“This is just an excuse for him to invite all of you out to a Country Club, isn’t it? None of you would’ve probably come here if it weren’t for me.” Dick set his hands on his hips and manages to point his most disapproving look in that direction.

It earns a laugh from his side, a firm clap on the back. “Nonsense. Bruce picks great spots to have our meetups. You being here is just an added bonus.”

“Wow. I can’t believe you just said that with a totally straight face.”

“Anyway,” Clark pats his back again before he steps forward, heading towards the direction of the _grown-ups table._ “Have fun, Dick. Don’t forget to say hi to the rest of us.”

“Uh huh.” Dick watches him go, only briefly before he’s wandering through a maze of tables to get to where the whole gaggle of his friends are schmoozing it up away from people dressed in suits and formal attire.

“Oh look, the man of the hour has finally arrived,” is the stupendous announcement that Roy makes when Dick reaches the table with a small wave of his hand.

“Hey-”

“Dick! Happiest of Birthdays to you!” Kori’s arms spread wide and proudly, smiling from ear to ear, but it’s not her that scoops Dick up in her arms.

Wally beats her to the punch, jumping up from his seat and nearly tackling Dick over with the force of his weight. “Finally!”  
  


* * *

  
  
Dick would settle, just this once, that Bruce didn’t do half bad. Even if a party wasn’t what he wanted. Getting his friends all together again, taking two months to plan just this one night for him, was… thoughtful. Considerate. How many times did Dick complain to him about Wally always being busy and Donna being out of town? About Roy putting all of his free time into family now and barely having any time for hangouts aside from the occasional drink at a bar, which Dick hadn’t ever really been a fan of, personally. Most “normal” aspects of life weren’t things that piqued Dick’s interest, anyway. But today… he enjoyed that. 

He enjoyed himself when Kori asked to dance, when Roy challenged him to cup stacking, when Donna wanted to arm wrestle “with a twist.” Garth asked to dance, too, although with a bit more flair and a heavier beat that Dick wasn’t so comfortable joining in on when there was a posse of parental figures with their eyes glued on them in silent judgement when a certain somebody was pelvic thrusting into thin air.

It took about an hour for Dick to become fed up with the distance between their tables and shoved a row of them together with Tim and Conner, dragging each group towards the center of the room. “One big happy family!” he announced, arms gesturing wide, and for some reason when Diana applauded him it made Dick feel like he’d accomplished something important.

He hadn’t felt _important_ in… a long time. Not since he was a kid, before the glamor of being Bruce Wayne’s ward wore off and the manor rules grew restrictive and boring.

Before he grew tired of hearing about how lucky he was from strangers who didn’t know a single thing about his life, how hard it was losing his parents, how _strange_ it always felt knowing that he wasn’t meant for this sort of rich life underneath Bruce’s careful guidance.

It always remained a dream to him. 

Out of reach.

“Something on your mind?”

Bruce asks as he slides into a seat beside Dick, just as Kori’s said her goodbyes, the last of his friends to leave after the cakes have all been gobbled down and presents smuggled away into Dick’s car. He’ll be wiping her lipstick off his cheek for at least the rest of the evening.

“Do you ever think about when I was younger?” Dick folds his arm over the table top, leaning into them like a pillow.

Bruce hums softly, easing back in his chair as his gaze roams across the emptier room. “Of course I do. Any time specific?”

“When I first arrived and was a total pain in your ass.”

“Language,” Bruce chides him, though his heart doesn’t sound at all in it. “I think about how much you’ve grown since then. You were always mature for your age, but you were never a pain. Even if you tried to butt heads on everything.”

A smile crosses Dick’s lips. “Maybe I’m having a quarter life crisis already.”

“Don’t say that, it makes me think about how old I’m getting.”

“Ha!” Dick sits up a little straighter, grinning now. He opens his mouth to say something else, but the abrupt buzzing in his pocket decides to cruelly remind Dick of his phone’s presence, and the fact that unlimited data plans are all too affordable for people in his age range. “Whatever happened to Tracfone? Does that still exist?”

“They’re more expensive now in the long run compared to when they used to be convenient and cheap.”

“Bleh.” Dick fishes his phone out, lifting it to read the caller ID--

_Ah._

“Sorry, B. Lemme just take this real fast.” 

Dick rose to his feet, shuffling out from between the tables with a brief wave before he was pressing the phone to his ear and moving for the large double doors. 

“Slade.”

_”So you picked up. How was the party?”_

A migraine crept at the peripherals of his brain already. “Is that any of your business?”

_”I suppose not.”_

“Great. So what’d you call for? I can’t imagine what it is, since you haven’t texted me any more _dissertations._ ” Once he’s in the lobby, alone, he paces the perimeter of it, his other hand tucking into a front pocket.

_”I’ve been thinking about your proposition.”_

“My what?”

 _“You were right. It isn’t very fair of me to tell you no while also expecting you to do something_ I _want for free.”_

Why did Dick have the feeling he wasn’t going to like this conversation? “I swear, if this is turning out to be another one of your schemes, I-”

_”I want at least one month of your time, and in return, I’ll permit you to… study me, more or less. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”_

“You’re insane.”

_”Are you going to reject me this time as well? I think it’s more than reasonable. That’s only thirty days. I might not even have you work all of them.”_

Dick ceases his patrolling, fingers tightening their grip around his cellphone. Slade always had this _way_ of getting under his skin, even when Dick knew that ninety percent of the words to come out of his ugly mouth were nothing but lies; silly things meant to rile him up and get Slade the reaction he was seeking out. Some gross satisfaction he earned from bringing Dick to the proverbial edge.

That wasn’t to say Dick wasn’t susceptible to it, and that it didn’t work on him almost every single time. What was _wrong_ with him? 

This was the opportunity he’d been waiting for, a chance to get close and taste that freedom for himself, even if he only had it by extension of using Slade to do it, to speak for him, _around_ him; to know exactly what it was that made Slade Wilson this type of unreliable person that went beyond simple words.

_”Well?”_

“How can I trust you?” He’d have to be an idiot not to ask. Well, even more of an idiot than he was being now.

There was a pause on the other end, only so Dick could hear Slade’s faint laughter under his breath.

_”Step outside.”_

Oh.

A chill spreads itself down the entirety of Dick’s spine. It coils around his nerves like icy barbs, a warning, sick and damp and everything that told him to _go back._ Back to Bruce, back to safety, back to pretending he wasn’t gnawing at his own conviction or that he wasn’t making a wildly _bad_ decision with a _bad person_ who even Alfred would chastise him for interacting with.

Yet Dick’s feet didn’t lead him into the dancehall. 

They led him across the lobby, to the exit, where he let his phone stay loose in his hand as he stood at the threshold and let his gaze drift passed the lawn to find a car parked on the opposite side of the gated entrance.

All of his breath seizes in his throat.

His screen burns hot against his skin, and he watches Slade shift barely a muscle to tip his head where he stares at Dick from, and somehow he can tell that the man is smiling even if he’s too far to see it, as that voice hums so close to his ear and shudders down his very heartstrings to reverberate off the inside of his chest.

_“We have much to talk about, pretty bird.”_


	3. Chapter 3

Meetings with Slade were always the same.

Teeth aching things that sat artificially sweet in Dick’s mouth and made his gums feel sore. Exchanges between them had no meaning, despite Dick’s desperate effort to find even a modicum of hidden explanation beneath a deceptively vibrant exterior. In a way they _always_ seemed to hurt; maybe because he knew Slade only wanted a Truth, or maybe because that praise he thrived on was so colorfully decorated in pinches of bitter lies just the same as everything else. It was never so simple enough that he could merely ask if Slade was being honest or not. He had no tethers to one or the other like the rest of the world. He could say whatever he wanted, and Dick would be none the wiser.

If he were smart he would play ignorant and take those words at face value. The commendment he received should have been more than enough to sate him. Dick had learned early on in his life, back when he still performed on high wires and trapezes, that he needed the approval to water his roots, lest he withered away in a pitiful bout of starvation. Loneliness was a curse kept at bay by an anecdotic shot of synthetic dopamine. With loneliness came depression, and Dick wasn’t ecstatic about accidentally falling into that bear trap of a convoluted existence. One of those was enough for him already.

Slade’s recognition didn’t begin with kind words and gussied up phrases to make Dick trust him.

He’d always known that Dick could see something _wrong._

The first compliment came in the form of a smile, an acknowledgement for something Dick had said. It was the first time he had a one on one discussion with Slade, still young and scribbling down answers to homework in the kitchen. Slade asked him a question, and Dick…

He hadn’t really felt like answering. So without thinking, without looking, he’d allowed Bruce’s teachings to guide him, and he circumvented the wording structure to pose a transparent lie. A reflection in the water. Real and still until someone disrupts the edge of the pool with even the barest graze of their fingertips, sending that carefully constructed response into rivulets of unidentifiable shapes and color. Easy to disassemble, still truthful with a twist on the end of its trail. So needlessly complicated to say what was really the intention.

Dick can remember the swell of _pride_ he’d felt. To that person, dangerous as he was and sharp tongued, his own being had done something that was worth recognition. And it wasn’t his athleticism or his manners. It wasn’t for something that anyone else could perform in front of the world.

In that moment, it was so intimately personal. To the only person in his life who could lie and tell the truth, he’d made an impression. Things that only _Slade_ could do, who saw the talent Dick had and practically threw worship at him for it.

So he kept practicing. Everytime Slade came by -- every month, every year -- Dick demanded an audience, a partner to forge words in the linguistic hearth with, embroidered by socially unacceptable inscriptions that could label Dick as somewhat of a maverick. Deep down, he knew willingly participating in such verbal rebellion wasn’t allowed, at least not to the extent that he’d trained himself, far surpassing even Bruce’s philosophies on Truths and their boundaries. What was legal and what was clearly not.

Lying is, after all, a gateway into crime. If Slade Wilson is anything to go by, given he was the only person Dick knew who could do so without worrying about consequence. The unknown variable in the complicated equation Dick wrote for himself.

Time and time again Slade had asked him to leave the manor and work under his mantle. Dick always refused.

By the time Dick was seventeen, his cravings reached their peak. His tongue was red with the aftertaste of concentrated sugars from all of the candycoated words he spilled.

He came to realize his infatuation with the desire to do _well_ stemmed even further than that. With every "pretty bird" to come out of Slade's mouth it only grew stronger, until too young and too stupid tried to take something that wasn't ever his to begin with. So simple, so small, just the brush of fingers in silver-white hair that he pushed behind an ear. A tip of his head closer, a request in that quiet motion.

_"I don't think this is a line you want to cross, Grayson."_

_"You don't know that."_

But, as time proved it again and again, meetings with Slade were all the same.

_It hurt._

Bruce ended his contract with Slade shortly after that, and the man stopped showing up in his life until Dick was old enough to move out.

It was like a calling card for Slade, to just drop by unannounced or text whenever he pleased, pestering Dick about working for him again two years after nothing but radio silence. As if he'd ever agree to that, after the way Slade dragged him along the ground by his hopes and dreams, lied to him, made him feel like he was anything more than a trophy to flaunt in front of his clients.

So…

Knowing that…

Why was he suddenly in Slade's car?

"My only condition is that you see through your whole thirty days."

A frown forms on Dick's lips as he shifts in place from the passenger seat. He tucks his hands between his thighs to squeeze them tight, like that might do anything at all to relieve the tension in his chest. "What if I just quit early once I've gotten what I want out of you?"

Slade's eye looms over him, glimmering in the faint reflection of light within the dark. "But that won't be satisfying for you, will it?"

Dick can't answer that. He bites his cheek instead and draws his gaze away with an awful expression painting his features. He knows he's easy to read like this, when he's vulnerable and emotionally wounded, dissected in front of the whole classroom.

"Let me use it." His voice doesn't waver as much as he fears it could've, and that's as much a relief as it is a frustration.

"You're still stuck on such grandeur, even now. Impressive."

"If you aren't going to agree to my terms then we don't have a deal." Silence stills the air. Slade was contemplating, for _what_ Dick couldn't tell. He knew Dick wasn't the sort of person to steal something and never return it. If it had to do with being a Truth… "Unless you're worried about what might come out of your mouth with no ability to stop it."

"I'm not concerned about that," Slade counters, but Dick can see the hesitation in his body language when he eases back. "I'd rather be caught dead than as a Truth."

Dick snorts, because God, was he really being that picky about this. "You don't know what it's like, do you? Can you even imagine what it feels like to be trapped inside your own voice at every hour of the day? Isn't this the only thing I'm asking of you? Let me feel what it's like to not have that. Let me feel what it's like to not have _restrictions_ placed on me around every corner."

Slade doesn't answer him straight away, holding Dick's gaze hostage. There's silence again, unending, nothing but the sound of an engine rumbling to fill a void Dick wishes would disappear already.

He doesn't notice Slade's hand lifting until a knuckle on his chin makes him flinch. Sparks skyrocket through his nerves in an instant starting from that contact point, and Dick wants to think that he's just imagining it when Slade leans towards him.

The urge to glue his back to the car door hits hard, but Dick doesn't move, and Slade stops halfway across the middle console.

Fingers curl themselves under his jaw to tip his head up, and Dick doesn't have the resolve in him to make it stop. He should. He should say something about this; too close, too personal. The taste of stale candy hits the back of his tongue like a rush of nostalgia and suddenly he _can't breathe._ He's held in place by those fingers, a single thread keeping all of his composure intact, body hanging from it. When Slade's thumb swipes across his lips Dick suffocates the urge to part them. If he holds that urge underwater long enough, eventually it'll stop kicking and screaming or begging to be let up when it knows the only thing that awaits it beyond the surface is something worse.

"One month. Then you can borrow it. Until then, don't even think about kissing me without permission."

That strikes the exact wrong chord in Dick, his teeth baring, wide eyes narrowing sharp. "All I wanted was your mark from that."

"And now that you're older?"

He moves swiftly, smacking Slade's hand away from his face. "Don't push it. I _hate you_ now more than ever."

"Good." Slade _smiles_ at him, condescending and smug and Dick wants to punch that look off of him. "Let's keep it that way."

Dick practically kicks open the passenger door before he's scrambling out, slamming it shut behind him once he's in the fresh air and on steady feet. They're done here. There isn't anything more to discuss, and Dick isn't going to dig his grave deeper than it is. He rounds the hood of the car, intent on leaving the conversation just at that--

"I'll be in touch, pretty bird," Slade calls out from his rolled down window, looking all too pleased with himself. Like a cat smirking in the face of a dozen knives.

" _Stop_ calling me that."

"Why?" Slade tilts his head, and Dick doesn’t think it should be possible for him to look anymore satisfied. "You like it."

"When did I ever say that I did?!" Dick nearly bristles, his shoulders raising, but all his reaction earns is a laugh and realization that he's fallen into another one of Slade's stupid _traps._

"You didn't have to." 

That's all Slade leaves him with, totally speechless as he watches that window roll back up and taillights fade away into a growing distance.

Dick doesn't budge for what feels like hours.

When he finally does it's to bury his face in his hands and mull over the terrible life choice he's just made. Probably the worst one to date.

God.

He was in trouble.


End file.
